The Color of Soul
by Eirwen Eira
Summary: The brush his mother gave him was tossed aside. With fear he once again convinced himself his father was right. But, his heart was lost in between, until the day he listened to her music and discovered the true nature of his soul. V x MC


**THE COLOR OF SOUL**

"You submitted a blank paper."

A white paper was held before V's face. The teacher sighed and put it down on the desk. "It's not just this. You also didn't attend a lot of classes, especially art class. Is there something you're not satisfied with?"

"I just see no reason why I should write down or draw what I feel. What can you achieve by simply making doodles out of your thoughts?" V's voice was stern, somewhat indicating disrespect.

"Just few days ago you seem to be embracing art. But, no matter. You do know the consequences of skipping classes and submit a blank paper for your assignment, don't you? I am not going to tolerate this amount of disrespect to not only your teachers, but all the artists you just indirectly insulted. You're already in high school. Think your actions through from now on, because it's going to affect your future soon. If this continues, I will have to take this matter to your father."

"…Understood."

After a couple of more lectures, the mint hair boy was permitted to leave. With brisk pace and grumpy face, he walked along the quiet hallway. School had ended an hour ago, the clear blue sky was darkened with darker hue, the sun was setting. He thought the lecture was useless. Why did he get a lecture about art? He couldn't accept it. Not after his mother took his drawing for submission, to be exposed in public eyes. Not after he lashed out at her for doing such foolish thing. Not after his father's anger over the impertinence. He slammed his fist onto the wall, his face was distorted with ire. Art was a fool's choice. Art was merely an escapism for fools who couldn't see reality. Fools who dreamed too much. Fools who loved to express themselves through creativity.

Fools who could create beautiful things.

In each passing thought, his balled fist slid down the wall, his anger grew wearier. He wanted to be so angry, he wanted to hate art so much, but now that he tasted the freedom and dream it offered, his feelings were conflicted. His path was already decided since birth. Art would not grant him absolute success. His father was always right.

Resonance of music echoed throughout the hallways. The bewitching tune pulled him into a state of trance. He had listened to recitals before, but the tune, the melody, the sound produced by seemingly a piano stirred his chest, his emotions brought forth. He looked up, it was coming from just above the stairs. He hastily rushed towards the music. Whatever that could bring about this feeling in his heart, his body responded on its own. Each note touched him. Each echo prompted his body to run unbidden, his heart throbbed faster the closer he got. The tune was getting nearer and nearer, and he arrived at the music room. The door was slightly open. The melody resonated tranquility, sadness, yet hope that seemed to be hidden beneath the notes. He was drawn to the mystical emotions it was summoning, yet frozen before the door that could reveal the music that was moving his heart.

Having mustered his courage, he peeked into the room to see a lone brown-haired girl drumming her fingers on the piano keys gently. Each motion and note were deliberate, graceful, carried out emotions. He was transfixed by her mesmerizing moves. The girl stopped and turned to his direction. He felt words were stolen from him as those golden eyes were staring into his mint eyes.

"S-sorry, I was just…" he went inside and closed the door nervously.

"Can I help you?"

"N-no! What could you possibly do to help me?!" he screamed. He snapped out of it as he realized his sudden outburst. "S-sorry, I didn't mean to yell."

The girl said nothing and quietly took the music sheet on the piano to read. "Uh... are you a pianist or something?" he asked. "I've never heard such music before."

"Maybe someday."

"Someday?" his face grew listless. She was one of those people. Those who studied the industry of creativity such as art, music, writing, and the like. The fools who were spending their lives meaninglessly trying to find value in abstract concept. "So, you're that type, huh?" he muttered. "Why do you even bother with this path? There's nothing you can achieve by clinging to such idealistic dream."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about. The world of arts is able to achieve something others cannot."

"Achieve what? You can't guarantee success with them. Art, music, or whatever is for pigheaded who's chasing the intangible. People like you will not make it in the world if you cling to hope that it will grant you financial and social accomplishment."

"I beg to differ," she put down the sheet. "because art is what this world needs."

"What…?" his phone rang, it was his driver. He clicked his tongue, he wanted to talk with her longer. With a heavy heart, he bid her goodbye and left.

The car was driving along the road, he rested his chin on his palm with his eyes looking out of the car window, but his mind was elsewhere. There was no base behind her words, nor was it supported by theory, but it left a mark in his mind, one that he couldn't stop thinking about. What did she mean by that?

* * *

Jumin raised an eyebrow at his friend's strange behavior. Since this morning, V seemed to be swimming in his thoughts. He barely responded to anything, and now, he found him in the library reading a book upside down. "Jihyun," he snatched the book. "this isn't how you read a book."

Embarrassed, V took the book back and read it right. And yet, Jumin could notice he was still not reading the book. "Is something wrong?" he sat beside him.

"Huh? No, nothing. I just… met a girl yesterday."

"A girl?"

"She has golden eyes and long brown hair. She also plays the piano. I forgot to ask her name, so I can't ask around. And nobody seems to recognize the description either."

"If she plays piano, do you mean MC?"

V's face lit up and faced his friend. "You know her?"

"No. But I have heard of her. I was told by father that 6 years ago, her family was attacked by hitmen and her mother didn't survive. According to him, when he visited her house for a business meeting with her father, their relationship was too cold for parent-child. It seems they were estranged."

"Estranged…" the word was somehow familiar to him. "Why does no one know her, though?"

"Perhaps she doesn't exude much presence in society for them to care."

"That's harsh, Jumin."

"I'm merely stating a fact. That's how reality is, Jihyun."

"I can't disagree with you, but…" he trailed off. "I can't imagine what is it like, losing your parent. It's understandable since people like us are targeted for our wealth and lives. That could have easily been us..."

"You seem to be very curious about her. Are you interested in her?"

V jumped from his chair with red face. "Wh-What do you mean interest?!"

"I do not mean it that way. And, please lower your voice."

"S-sorry." he sat back. "I'm not sure what it is or why. There's just something about her. She says the strangest things, but… I want to talk to her again."

"What do you want to do?" Jumin's question received a confused look from V. "Do you remember what I told you before?"

Of course. Jumin's advice was always in his mind. As expected of his best friend, he thought. He didn't need explanation to know what V was thinking. "Yes… I must form my own view of the world. I must find out what she is like myself."

Jumin nodded and continued his reading. Jumin was insensitive, but he always could see through V's heart. His lips curved to a smile, yet his eyes were looking at his friend rather sadly. He was truly grateful for having such an amazing friend like him.

* * *

V was relieved his hunch was right. She was in the music room after school again. According to the school caretaker, she was always playing the piano after school, whenever the music club didn't use it. When he entered the room, she didn't seem to notice him. Like the day he first saw her, her music seemed to carry her into a world of her own, a utopia of her own imaginary world, a haven that belonged to her and only her. Her body was here, but her soul was drifting elsewhere.

He had thought artists who lived in their own world were dreamers and delusional, but that wasn't what he saw in her. He didn't want to break her concentration or think he could, so he stood by the door, watched as her hands and fingers were dancing across the piano keys fluently, listening to the music she was playing, the melody and tones coming out of the piano. He couldn't help but close his eyes and immersed himself in the wave of emotions, the flow carrying his mind and heart away from reality, sharpening his senses and visualization of the forlorn piece.

The song was ingrained in his heart, his mind, his soul. He could picture it. The prelude was calm, choked in sadness and unspoken tears, and then followed by faster beat and heavier notes, connoting a calm before the storm. It was still a sad melody, and yet there was a hint of anger, doubt, confusion. He had never heard of this piece before. Most of all, he saw himself in the song. It was uncomfortable how it pictured him, but he didn't mind. He liked the song and the tranquility and voice that seemed to be speaking his true inner self in his stead. As soon as the song stopped, he broke out of the trance.

"Huh…? It stopped…"

MC, having heard a voice, finally noticed he was there. She recognized the boy from yesterday. "Do you want to listen to it again?"

"No, I'm fine… I don't care about music anyway." yet his averted face said the contrary. It was obvious he looked conflicted. The same expression he wore the day they met. "I've never heard of the piece before. Who composed it?"

"Me."

"Excuse me?"

"I started composing this piece years ago."

The emotions he picked up, he assumed it had anything to do with her mother's death and the cold relationship she had with her father. But it was still amazing she could still write it. He remembered what his mother taught him, that people like her and MC lived for the path they chose. They were disconnected from reality and sought meaning to their lives through the process of self-expression.

His mother…

Whenever her face popped in his head, whenever that dejected look when he screamed at her entered his head, he couldn't help the anger. The disappointment. The fear and doubt in himself that he didn't have before. A whirlpool of feelings had unleashed, roaming in his heart to this day, it brought nothing but confusion and agitation. However, when he looked at MC, she didn't look disconnected like his mother. Maybe it was because she hadn't lost one of her senses, but from the beginning, she was calm, gentle, and melancholy. Unlike him who was stubborn, condescending, unsympathetic. There was so much curiosity he couldn't resist.

"I don't understand you people…" he approached her. "What's so good about this anyway? Choosing music or whatnot."

"You asked that yesterday. Have you never experienced something like this before?"

"Only momentarily. I tried drawing before. I didn't want to at first, but my mother suggested it to me. I admit I was hooked. I saw the appeal in it. But, in the end, when it comes to success, art seems to be nothing but a waste of life. Why choose art when you can achieve better things? Art and others like it do not guarantee a secure future. And…" he trailed off and crossed his arms, looking down at her with eyes that seemed to question her case. "Why would you expose your creation to those who will judge you? It is no different than walking among society naked. Art makes you exposed, vulnerable. Why is my mother so fixated in me choosing art? Why is violin so important to her to a point she becomes… that? The more I try to understand, the more I don't."

He expected her to retaliate or respond in a defensive manner. Usually, when he spoke with that manner to people, they didn't take it well. But, at the moment, she was merely staring at his face, her eyes were staring into his. Neither anger nor vindicated look was there, as if she was trying to look into his soul through the window of his eyes. Once again, he found himself frozen by her eyes.

"I can't speak for your mother." she spoke. "But perhaps, people like me and her seek to live the life of music because that way, we can shed light to our souls, compose our voices through music. To share what can't be shared through melody, the revelation of a musician's soul that is seeking for self-expression and liberation of inner self. The same can be said for other creative fields."

"…You would make a great conversation partner with my mother, if she could hear." he commented and sat on the piano stool beside her. "But… is it not selfishness? Shouldn't you compromise your dream to fit society for a better life? To survive? I have asked this question before, and yet I still don't know which is the correct answer."

"If everyone shares that mindset, if painters, musicians, writers, dancers, actors, and others compromised their values for the sake of merely survival, this world wouldn't have been shed with colorful and mesmerizing lights. An out-of-this-world element is needed to complete itself, to open a gate to the true nature of the soul composed of heart and mind."

"That sounds unrealistic. It is only when we compromise our abstract values for the sake of practicality to correspond to the demands of society that life is set for the better. The way I see it, business is still the best path to concrete success. Art is just… a shadow. Your future isn't guaranteed. Why would anyone want to tread the path of a risky unknown when it might not pay your bills or sacrifice your sanity?"

"You seem to be conflicted about something. What is art to you?" she asked.

"What is art to me…?" he pondered in silence for a moment, before the memories of visiting the exhibition with his mother played in his mind, remembering the feelings whenever he was drawing. "Art is abstract, risky, stupid… and yet a wonder and unfamiliar. Like music, painting, literary, dancing and such, the form of creative medium that expresses our voice. However, success through art is not secure, and what good does it do? It cannot contribute to society."

Her finger slid across the keys again. It was short, but the combination of notes was mystical, mysterious, and spellbinding. Getting up close made the experience more vivid and sunk him in the pool of the emotions it brought forth. Her lips curved up into a meek smile at the softened face in front of her. "You see? Arts enhance one's empathy and broaden their view of the world and the people in it. To let the voice influenced its owner and its appreciators, to draw out the empathy in multitude of people with different backgrounds and issues, that is the purpose of arts I believe. What's more, it translates expression into a variety of perceptions of the soul while staying truthful to itself. The process and result of self-discovery is the delivery of our emotional states and messages, how to make them influential and vivid."

"So, it gives its owner of soul the ability to perceive their true self in an enlightening view with colors or intonation they never know existed? Tonality that serves as an insight to the heart and mind that shape the soul…"

"'An exposure and declaration of our inner depth through self-expression', as my mother put it."

They looked at each other as they seemed to understand one another and smiled. However, compared to his, her smile seemed weak, somehow sad. He remembered, his mother used to mutter things about soul, that art was what his soul wanted.

"But, I envy you. You already have the talent and proper training." he mumbled.

"What?"

"N-nothing! You may have skills, but that doesn't mean you will get by!"

It took him few seconds to realize the words coming out of his mouth. He averted his face away out of embarrassment and his mind was screaming at his impulsiveness. He always got so defensive and stubborn whenever he was embarrassed.

"I didn't care about music." her answer snapped him out of the embarrassment. When he turned to look at her, her eyes on the piano were forlorn. "I don't get proper training either. But my mother introduced me to it. It was her legacy and love that's passed down to me, and I want to keep it alive. What's more," she closed her eyes and pressed few notes. "whenever I tickle the keys, it feels like my mother is next to me."

The feeling of yearning and lost were shown in the music she started playing. It was her mother that introduced her to music. It was her mother that she was doing this for. It was all for the woman who had loved her. He couldn't say he didn't understand. He couldn't deny her way of living either. Somehow, it felt like she was saying that in his stead. And her feelings sneaked into his heart without him knowing. For the woman who had shown great care and love for her daughter. For the woman who showed true love to her son.

He never understood, nor did he want to understand his mother's sentiment, reasoning, or feelings about her own son. The root of her actions towards him. But, seeing MC play the piano, he could tell what love had been blessed to the girl sitting next to him, seemingly in her own world every time her fingers produced beautiful music. The same love his mother had blessed him with. And, his senses picked up her soul captured by all the pieces she played. As vivid as a picture taken by camera. As everlasting and colorful as a painting drawn on a blank white canvas.

A warm, small hand touched his chest, much to his shock. His face was red as beet. "Wh-what are you...?!"

"Your soul seeks for liberation, your heart seeks for color. You may not hear it, but your questions speak its voice. Music is the voice of my soul. Don't you want to know the color of yours?"

Her question had him lost, her curious eyes forced an opening in his heart. The sudden feeling of realization surfaced the despair and longing suppressed by his stubbornness and hard logic. He held her hand placed on his chest, gripping it firm as if to seek comfort and reassurance. His expression was weak. "…Don't you get it? It is too late for me. I am carved to be a businessman since I was born."

And if he exposed himself, he would be criticized for it- he let the thought unspoken.

"…It's never too late to start anew. Your caged soul will find a way to release itself. And, please do…" her downcast eyes and pleading voice seemed to portray a hidden regret and sorrow, as if she was speaking through experience.

"But," his voice was stern yet feeble. "in reality, art just doesn't guarantee stability. It doesn't give you much standing in society."

"Success doesn't always have to come from how people think about you. And, 'success' differs from person to person, isn't it? If you're too focused worrying about others' opinions, you will lose yourself."

"Well, you're not wrong, but…"

"I'm sure you will be able to release yourself in art and see how beautiful your color can become."

He was lost once more. Not the lost from confusion, but from the comfort and warmth that struck his heart like thunderbolt. It felt like his mother was in front of him. When he was mad at her, he was certain his old way was right. But, the sentence coming out from a stranger he just met brought his subconscious to his conscious, to let him know the doubt that had been with him and shed light upon it. Written on his face were vulnerability and hesitation.

He and MC were alike yet different. He was told that the world of arts was an escapism for losers who couldn't accomplish anything in life, who clung to false hope, but it didn't seem like it when she played the piano, when his mother praised and supported his art. But, he shouldn't accept it. He was sculpted to have the mind of a businessman, a contradiction to the world of arts. He was afraid to know more about art, but her curious words magnetized him and shrouded his vision from the cold logic his father had implanted in him.

"MC, are you going to be here again tomorrow?"

There was a brief pause. "…Why?"

He held out his pinky finger in front of her. "Next time we meet, let's exchange our thoughts again."

Her golden eyes merely stared at his finger. There was a flint of hesitation in her eyes, whispering unspoken words, but it was quickly dismissed as both pinkies intertwined. A symbol of their promise and hope.

"I would hope so." she responded with the first sincere smile she ever gave him, to which he responded with a blush and smile. In front of her, he seemed to be able to share some of his insecurities. In front of her, there was a certain air of relaxation he could submit himself into, a comfort that he wished could stay as everlasting as the sun.

* * *

The night was no longer silent. The blazing fire engulfed everything in its path, swallowing his house whole. He could faintly hear everyone panicking from outside for him and his mother. But, there was no use. If only he could turn back time and make things right, if only he could give his mother a chance, if only he apologized before the fire of hell took lives in this house. The thought didn't stop, the last moment he had with his mother replayed in his head repeatedly, the insolence he showed, the dejected look she had that time. His disarrayed thoughts were leaking through his horrified face as his widened eyes stared at the lifeless body of the woman who used to be his mother. The blood on her body and dilated pupils exhibited an abrupt and violent death. Afterwards, everything went black. The scene was forever engraved in his memory.

It had been five days since the fire took place, since he was hospitalized. Jumin made frequent visits, but none of them cheered V up, though it shouldn't be. He just lost his mother. He responded to their chats like normal, albeit very dejected and lost. Everything, every memory that led up to that moment, all of the good and bad memories were rewritten into the day when he lost his only true path to happiness, when he lost his identity as Jihyun Kim along with the only person who had ever truly loved him. Everything was vague, except for the change that would not return him to the puppet his father polished him to be.

With Jumin's advice and encouragement, he would wake up every day with renewed life and scar in his heart forever tattooed. He stood in front of the piano that had been used by the girl whose presence was engraved in his memory—supposedly. But now, he could barely remember it. He couldn't capture the feelings and moments of those short two days. Her face, her voice, her hand touching his heart, it became vague. He couldn't remember what she looked like because every time he tried, his mother appeared instead. But, he remembered the promise they made. He sat on the piano stool, and with his hand dolefully placed on the spot where she used to be. She was no longer here.

According to Jumin, the day they were supposed to meet, she moved away. Their promise was left unfulfilled. And, the memory of MC was completely forgotten in years, until the day when their reunion redirected him to the path he was supposed to tread, until once again her lecture and support made him rewind back to the moment his mother was still there, and to the moment they shared their souls in that piano room.


End file.
